


I'll Be So Alone Without You (Maybe You'll Be Lonesome Too)

by GiggleSnortBangDead



Series: You Belong to Me 'Verse [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blindness, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, Injury, M/M, Mates, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 01:52:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7147298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiggleSnortBangDead/pseuds/GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd been off his meds too long, he realized, leaning against the tree, his hands tremoring. During his days hunting, he'd been in more stressful situations and his heart had never felt this close to collapse. His throat hadn't ached over lumps, in desire to call out for help. But he was scared. Peter had made him so scared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be So Alone Without You (Maybe You'll Be Lonesome Too)

**Author's Note:**

> can you believe im back? can you believe it's with a sequel to You Belong to Me? notes on the gross shit in this below, but it's much the same. so if you could get through the first one, you can probably get through this one. 
> 
> this is even less beta'd than usual. i've glanced over it, but you know. im a busy young lady.
> 
> (also i'm not actually BACK probably. like the stars just aligned and this got written.)

"Darling, you know I don't like to do this." Peter's voice was behind him, and Stiles couldn't muster up much of a response when he was finally outside, and he could feel the sun on his face, and the air was so different from the single room he'd been used to. His legs felt coltish and unsteady, but he took a step forward, forgetting why Peter sounded so resigned. There was no hand guiding him.

"Go on, Stiles," he said, using his name for once instead of one of the many pet names he preferred. Stiles often thought that Peter regretted not having been able to name him, to have that kind of a parental claim to match all the others he'd staked. Peter nudged him forward, startling Stiles with the sudden contact, making him jump another step ahead. He paused then, finally inclining his face back towards where he thought Peter might be. "Darling, please." he urged, and Stiles took another step, and then another, and then hit his shoulder against something. 

It didn't hurt too badly, and running his hand against it's body, he could tell it was just a tree, nothing to be worried about. Still, there was a soft pang settling low in his chest, under his heart and above his stomach, where anxiety often liked to coil. "What are we doing out here?" Stiles finally asked, hand still on the tree to orient himself.

Peter's voice came from the front this time, which did nothing to ease Stiles's discomfort. "I told you if you kept refusing to eat I'd have to find a way to punish you, and I'd rather not beat you. Considering your background, I just don't think it'd be very effective."

Stiles curled his toes in the dirt and waited for Peter to get to it. A hand laid on his elbow making Stiles jump and Peter started to lead him deeper into the woods.

"We're at a very important time in our relationship. You get nervous when I leave you alone, but you have a hard time being good when I'm around. This is, of course, to be expected - but I'd much prefer if we could move past this stage sooner rather than later." They were walking awfully fast, Stiles stepping on sharp needles and rocks, trying to jerk away but still being dragged along. He was trying to count steps, but Peter kept making odd, sharp turns. 

"Peter, can we go home?" Stiles asked, a little breathless, stepping in something wet and mushy, the noises of the woods getting louder and more unknown. He hoped the soft language, his soft and trembling voice might sway the wolf. "Please, b-baby." he said, the endearment old and unwieldy in his mouth. He was trying to dig his heels in, but Peter was just pulling harder and harder until he huffed a sigh and scooped Stiles up in his arms. 

"Don't squirm so much or I might drop you." he scolded "Then you'd be out here with a twisted ankle, and you don't want that, do you?"

"No, Peter," Stiles began to beg, feeling himself go frantic and teary. He wished he'd been eating. He was feeling exceptionally weak, emotional, and he wanted to huddle into the warmth of Peter's chest despite the alarms of disgust that set off in his brain. He could tell it was going to be a cold night. "Peter, don't leave me out here. Peter, darling, baby, my heart."

"Now, hush." Peter snapped. "You don't mean any of that, and it's not endearing to hear your heart lie to me. You know that hurts my feelings." 

"And it'll never be true if you leave me out here," Stiles told him, but that was a lie too. He went on anyway. "I'll hate you even more if you leave me like this." 

Peter laughed and set him down. "It's just for one night, dearest." he mocked. "You've spent a night in the woods before."

"Not like this." Stiles tried to reason, clutching his chest, breathing becoming more and more of and issue. He reached out his free hand to where he approximated Peter to be and grasped at air. He did a half turn. "Peter?" he asked. There was no response, no spoken word or gentle laugh or touch or even discernible sound of footsteps to follow. 

"Peter?" he begged again, frantic, breath catching. He didn't want to cry. He couldn't cry - but maybe, just maybe, if he did, Peter might come back. "Peter, please." he whined, taking an aborted step in who knew what direction. He was ringing his hands, stroking over his mating bite in an empty gesture of comfort, rambling, "Please, I'll be better. I'll eat. I'll do it, please just don't _leave me here_."

* * *

There were a few things of which Stiles could be sure. 

It was going to be colder than comfortable that night. Not freezing, but, from the way he was already shaking, his self-induced fast had hurt him in more ways than one. 

He also wasn't likely to be approached by any animals, and Peter probably wouldn't have left him in an area where people would find him easily. 

Most importantly, Peter would not leave him to die out here, and Peter would be able to find him in the morning - and Stiles would be so grateful. He'd put anything Peter wanted in his mouth, for whatever reason, and probably thank him for it. He would be that much closer to where Peter wanted him.

He'd been off his meds too long, he realized, leaning against the tree, his hands tremoring. During his days hunting, he'd been in more stressful situations and his heart had never felt this close to collapse. His throat hadn't ached over lumps, in desire to call out for help. But he was scared. Peter had made him so scared. 

"Peter," he croaked after swallowing a few times. "Peter, if you're still here, if you can hear me, please come back. I think," he swallowed convulsively again, and his voice broke in desperation. "I think I might be sick. Please - " he took a step away from the solid form behind him, listening, as if Peter would miraculously announce his presence.

He called louder this time. "Peter." He must be listening. He wouldn't just _leave_ Stiles out here, alone, unprotected. "Peter, if you don't come get me, I'm going to walk deeper into the woods and kill myself." he threatened. "I'm going to scream for help until someone finds me and takes me away from you."

Stiles waited a half second, bringing his wrist up to his mouth to worry his mating bite with his lips, listening for anything but the murmuring sounds of the woods, and then started to walk.

* * *

He knew it was the dumbest thing to do. He, half-starved, cold, no shoes, _blind_ , walking unsteadily with his hands stretched in front of him. He had shouted, loud, pleading, obnoxious, for the first minute but quickly gotten tired of it, wanting to put more energy into his careful tread forward. 

He thought about the direction was taking leading him out of the woods and right back to Peter's door, and the thought warmed him from the inside, made him ache almost in agony. He tamped that down. 

"God, Chris would be so mad at me." Stiles muttered, remembering the bizarre training he'd had years ago, blindfolded, getting the shit kicked out of him by Chris and some of his friends. He'd eventually learned how to hold his own in a fight, but he wasn't fighting. He was ~~trying to get home~~ trying to find help or die. 

Stiles tripped. Of course he tripped. He was shocked he hadn't already tripped - but considering the care with which he had been advancing, maybe it wasn't that surprising. his knee, unprotected by the sleepshorts Peter had helped him into not too long ago, split open, and the hand he'd tried to break his fall with tweaked badly, sending a sharp pain up his marked wrist, to his elbow. He hissed and moved to get his legs out from under him, sitting on his butt, pressing the fingers of his uninjured hand against the torn, bloody skin. He was so close to tears, frantic and hurting and so _stupid_ and so _lost_ and _alone_ and _stupid_ for having left the tree Peter had brought him to. 

There were some steps in the brush and Stiles was trying to push himself up. "Hello? Who is that?"

"Are you all right?" a man asked, stepping quickly to his side, kneeling and grasping Stiles's shoulder. "What are you doing out here?" His hand was pleasantly warm through the thin material of Stiles's shirt, and Stiles was immediately throwing himself into the man's arms. 

"Oh my God," he hurried. "You have to help me. You have to get me out of here."

"What's going on?" the voice asked, pressing Stiles tight against his chest. He felt so good and solid and _warm_ \- like Peter, but not as crazy. All the comfort without the abuse. 

"Please, you have to get me out of here." Stiles was trying to stand, to drag the man up with him. "Do you have a car? Do you know the way out?" 

"You can't see, can you?" the man asked, tone soft, considering. He stayed put, and Stile slumped against him a little, breathing out something like a nervous laugh.

"Please, help me." he asked again, but the man still wasn't budging, still just looking at him, and Stiles knew that if this man was really going to help him, surprise should have probably turned to adrenaline-fueled action seconds ago. "Oh, God, please get me out of here. Please, I can pay you." 

"Your Peter's boy, aren't you?" the man hummed, breathing against his neck.

Stiles was struggling away in the next instant, shoving at him with his bad hand, jolting pain up his arm, scrambling away on his scraped up feet. The man sort off flopped forward, pinning him under his weight and then inhaling noisily. 

"Yeah, you smell like Peter's. I've been picking up your trail for the better part of an hour. You stink like fear and sadness, but when you started bleeding," he rumbled deep and pleased in his chest. "I knew Peter had a hunterhole he was training in that big Pack compound of his, but I had no idea that the reality was so _sweet_."

Stiles's hands were pressed firmly against his chest, his legs held down by the man's - _wolf's_ \- own. "Let me go." he hissed, half hysterical, ferocious. "Let me go, or I'll fucking kill you."

And the wolf laughed, readjusting himself over Stiles's smaller frame, languid, confident. "You're a cute bitch, aren't you, slut? I bet you whine like a little pup for Peter too." Without much ceremony, he jostled Stiles around, onto his stomach, face down in the dirt, and started to work the shorts over his ass. Stiles's legs kicked out weakly, hands stuck under his chest, still trying to push up or squirm away. The wolf was so heavy on his back, and Stiles was maybe starting to hyperventilate, feeling lightheaded, almost like he wasn't in himself any longer. 

"I'm Peter's." Stiles echoed, voice wavering in and out of human audibility. "I'm _Peter's_ mate. He won't let you, so _stop_." 

And for a second, the wolf did stop. Stiles cold almost breathe again, but the wolf started to laugh, loud and mean and ugly. "Your mate, huh?" he managed to get out, now just ripping the shorts off of him. Stiles started to shake in earnest, tearing up, so dizzy with fear - like some sort of prey animal. "Is that what Peter told you? Did Peter say _mate_ and plug up your loose boypussy with his dogdick? Did he tell you it was _special?_ " and his voice pitched sticky-sweet, like he was making fun of Stiles. 

He _was_ making fun of Stiles, and he was going to _hurt_ him, and he said Peter had _lied_.Rational thought was all gone, and Stiles was keening like an animal, wanting to call for help but too scared. 

"I know Peter, _huntermate_. He's not that traditional." Fingers were prodding against Stiles's hole, dry, rough. Stiles's legs were splayed out, no longer as firmly held down, but he wasn't going anywhere. He couldn't see, he couldn't breathe, he probably couldn't walk, let alone run. The wolf was breathing hot in his ear, whispering, "But guess what, hole. I'm not traditional either, and I'll knot your dirty human analcunt without lying to you or saying how much I _wuv_ you." he promised, and he seemed to be laughing, and Stiles couldn't understand. Peter _lied_ to him. Peter bit his wrist and knotted him, and now he was probably going to leave him in these woods because they weren't actually mates and Stiles was too much trouble, and this wolf was going to _hurt_ him. 

"Oh, no," Stiles was shuddering, violently hyperventilating. "Pete - oh, God, I'm s-s-s-s- " The fingers were starting to dig in, intent on breaching. Stiles tired to call out for Peter, tried to apologize, but he couldn't exactly remember what happened next.

* * *

What he did remember was waking up alone, the woods noisy around him, his cheek pressed up against the dirt and leaves and twigs. He felt sick and tired and hurt between his legs. The worst part was how cold he felt, his clothes all ripped off and the night having finally settled in.

Slowly, as gently as he could, he turned on his side and started to push up using his uninjured arm for leverage. The movement dislodged something inside him, which came oozing out lukewarm. Stiles pressed his dirty hand over his face and cried out, weak, terrified, humiliated. 

After a minute, he dragged himself out of the puddle and found a new tree to lean against. He reached back to touch himself, his hole loose and wet, trying to check for a tear. What he found had him retching, dry heaving his way back into hyperventilation. 

"Oh my God," he begged, smothering his cries with his injured wrist. He didn't finish the thought.

* * *

When he woke up again, he was face down on his and Peter's bed. It smelled like Peter's after shave, his cologne, their laundry detergent. He moved his arms and felt one, confined in a thick cast, held stable. It didn't stop him from gripping the soft sheets between his fingers, pressing his face against Peter's pillow, and sobbing in relief. 

"My heart." Peter crooned, taking a seat beside him. Stiles started to turn, wanting his mate to wrap his arms around him and say he loved him and kiss him clean. Peter's hand pressed down on his back though, and he stayed put. "Oh, darling, what happened?" 

Stiles's lower lip began to quiver. "There was a wolf in the forest." he whimpered. Peter _hmm_ ed in sympathy, like he understood. "He said I wasn't your mate." Stiles started to cry and Peter shushed him, petting his back lightly. "He said you don't love me." 

"And do you believe him?" Peter asked easily. Stiles couldn't answer. "And you're taking the word of this wolf as true? After he _raped_ you?" and Stiles sort of flinched at the word, which he hated. It made him feel so weak. 

"Why didn't you come save me?" Stiles whined, pressing hand against his mouth belatedly, ashamed of what he'd said. 

The noise Peter made was soft, an imploring little hum. "I had to keep myself inside. If I didn't, I would have gone back for you the first time I heard you call for me."

And something in Stiles's gut didn't feel right, felt overhot, and he remembered that Peter was a liar. Peter always lied, and Stiles always fell for it. "You set it up." Stiles said. "You set it all up. You had that wolf -- come after me." 

"Of course not, my heart. How could you say that?"

"Because I _know_ you! You had him tear me up because you were mad and now you're trying to - you're trying to - " 

"That's enough." Peter snapped. "I would never let another wolf fuck my mate. You are _mine_. You belong to me, with me." 

"Then why aren't you mad?" And Stiles couldn't stop from asking, his voice cracking, "Why did you let that happen to me?" 

"I already told you." Peter said patiently, pressing against his back a bit more firmly. "And I _am_ mad. I'm tracking that wolf down as we speak.

"And will you kill him?" Stiles asked.

"If you took the bite," Peter offered, "We could do it together." 

It took Stile a second to process. "No," he stammered.

"Then, no." Peter said. "Torture maybe."

Stiles pressed his face against the pillow, his shoulders shaking, good hand coming to tug viciously at his hair.

"He'll be displeased afterwards, when we release him. I'm sure he'll want to take it out on me and my property. But I'll be able to keep an eye on him.," Peter explained, like the words could soothe Stiles's skipping heart. "His territory shares those woods with us. Would you like breakfast?" 

Stiles exhaled slowly through his nose. He thought about the implication. The woods were close. The wolf was close. "Yes." 

"What can I make you, my darling?" 

"I'll eat whatever you want." Stiles told him. Peter let him curl up at his side, pressing himself against Peter's legs in an effort to find some stability. 

Peter made a low, happy sound, rubbing over Stiles's shoulder. "The doctor gave me some ointment for your tear. I'll bring that in with breakfast. He'll be by to check you over later. Maybe you can even be awake for the visit this time. And how about a warm bath afterwards?"

"Okay, Peter." Stiles said, turning his face up. Peter pressed a chaste kiss on his mouth.

"Why don't you get some more sleep? I'll be back a bit later." 

"Okay." Stiles murmured, turning back onto his front. "I - " he started, not feeling inside himself again.

"Shh." Peter said, running a hand down his flank. "We'll talk later." He kissed him again, on the back of his head. He stood up and let Stiles cry in peace.

**Author's Note:**

> So, Peter leaves Stiles in the woods alone for the night because Stiles has been refusing to eat. While there, a wolf finds Stiles and assaults him, leading to anal tearing. Peter may or may not have known that this would happen, and he may or may not have been behind this assault. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Take care, you guys!
> 
> Come kick around with me on [my tumbley](http://gigglesnortbangdead.tumblr.com/).


End file.
